Her staring was laying his icy reserve to waste. He rested both arms on their arm rests, wine glass hanging from his naked fingers, and returned the stare as cooly as he could manage. But his throat was rough and dry, despite the wine. A heat, a terrible, violent heat ran through him. He was so used to the cold, that he didn't know what to do with this. She looked at him in such a way that it was easy to imagine...
He swallowed.
"And yet, here you are," he said at last. "Today must have been a shock. It is understandable that sleep is elusive tonight." It didn't explain his lack of sleep. And, with mild surprise, he realized that he was drinking in front of her. He never ate or drank in front of anyone before, not even his own mother.
Erik had been told that his mother could barely stand to feed him at all. He had no doubts about this; it was his mother herself who told him. His brow creased and he set the glass aside.
"What's in your head, child?" he asked at last, softening the coolness of his voice. "What brings you downstairs in the middle of the night?" Perhaps if she simply talked, it would ease him. If he could hear her speaking... He took a breath and gestured for her to begin.